


Catch the Pearl and Ride the Dragon's Wings

by tryslora



Series: Sing For All the Broken Things [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, M/M, Passion, Past Relationship(s), Quickies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the heat of the moment, after a show, Stiles and Jackson help each other out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch the Pearl and Ride the Dragon's Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, prompt #138 - Heat of the Moment at fullmoon_ficlet ear-wormed me, and thus I had to add to the same ‘verse as last week’s band!fic, with a bit that explains the start of Stiles and Jackson’s actual relationship (even though there’s still loads of development missing, sorry). The title comes from the Asia song “Heat of the Moment”. As always, I do not own the world nor characters, of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

Stiles is dripping sweat when the stage lights go down and the normal lights come up. The temperature lowers abruptly without the spot on him and his kit, and he dumps a bottle of water over his head to try to help himself cool off. 

“Stiles!” Lydia waves a hand at him, points at the wings. “Bus is leaving in twenty for the after party. Sony execs will be there.” Her gaze narrows, lips pursing. “Do _not_ get lost in the bathroom again.”

One time he was late getting to the bus. _One time_ in two years and she hasn’t let him forget it.

“I’ll be there.” He waves her off, sees her catch up to Danny and Scott to wait while they make sure all of their instruments are properly stowed and ready to be wrangled into the truck that carries the equipment from place to place. All Stiles needs right now are his favorite drumsticks and to get changed, and yeah, maybe make a pit stop on the way to the bus.

It is _not_ his fault that performing makes him horny as fuck.

It’s all the energy, all the screaming and positive vibes. He feels the vibrations right into his dick, and next thing he knows he could hang a flag on his hard-on. 

There are plenty of people around who’d love to take care of it for him, but Stiles isn’t that kind of guy. He isn’t the one who wants to have a groupie suck him off in the back room. He’s not into one-offs, not into the kind of anonymous sex that people are looking to have with a rock star (as if they’re _stars_ , he figures they’re lucky to be headlining already, on a tour for their first full length album). But he’s been doing this long enough that he’s sick of that. He wants a relationship.

He _had_ a relationship once, and it was incredible. It also fucking sucked, and it’s been over for years, and while he’s not a fucking monk, Stiles has developed a fantastic relationship with his right hand ever since.

He’s just careful not to let it make him _late_ anymore.

He rushes through their dressing room—a chaotic mess that someone else will clean up, pack up, and make sure it gets to the next site—barging straight into the private bathroom that’s attached. He’s got maybe five minutes, so he has to make it quick. He shoves the his basketball shorts and boxers down around his knees, gets himself started. Just a little bit and he’ll be done.

“Stiles?”

_Fuck_. The door to the bathroom isn’t closed, and that’s Jackson’s voice. That’s _Jackson_ standing right behind him, making a strangled noise, and Stiles can’t really _stop_ , not right now.

Not that he needs to, because oh _fuck_ , that’s Jackson’s hand wrapped around his, that’s Jackson pressed up against his ass, just as hard, just as needy.

“Don’t stop,” Stiles orders, and Jackson doesn’t.

It’s maybe two minutes, probably less, before it’s all over. There’s a mess on the floor and Stiles’s ass is sticky, and Jackson is leaning against him, warm and heavy and comfortable. Stiles can feel every breath that he takes, the way the two of them start to synchronize as Stiles braces them both by leaning against the sink, his head bowed.

“Well, that was new,” Stiles murmurs, and Jackson huffs a laugh.

“You looked like you needed a hand.” Jackson pulls back, nudges Stiles over so they can both wash their hands, clean up a bit before finding clean clothes in the dressing room to change into. “I figured it’d be faster for both of us, so Lydia doesn’t yell at either of us for being late.”

Stiles snorts, because that explains so much about Jackson’s bus habits. Stiles had figured he was getting waylaid by fans. Apparently not. “Efficient.” He deftly buttons up his jeans. “Not a bad plan.”

“And in the future?” Jackson shrugs into a t-shirt that’s probably a size too small for him. It looks _good_ , stretched across his pecs, giving a hint of the washboard abs he manages to keep in perfect shape even while on tour.

“Is that a proposition?” Stiles’s smirk falls away when he catches sight of Jackson’s uncertainty.

“It’s just a fucking question,” Jackson snaps, looking away. “You’re bi, I’m bi, the press has thought we were fucking since you were still fucking Derek. So why shouldn’t we?”

“Hey.” Stiles touches Jackson’s shoulder, waiting to meet his eyes as soon as he turns. “I have had enough of people who won’t be _honest_. Tell me what you’re thinking?”

“I’m thinking I want that ass,” Jackson says bluntly. “And you want to get this as much as I do.”

It’s honest, but it’s not all of it. Stiles isn’t sure if Jackson means as a heat of the moment, let’s get off after shows thing, or a let’s hold hands in the middle of a fucking interview thing. 

He’s also not really sure the distinction matters.

“Sure. Fine.” He barely gets the words out and Jackson’s crowding him back against the wall, hips flush together, grinding as Jackson devours him with a kiss. Hungry, hot, and _fuck_ if things aren’t getting interested again.

“Oh for _fuck’s_ sake,” Lydia says. The door slams open as she shoves it, and Jackson pulls back a bit, his body still close enough to keep Lydia from seeing the effect they’re having on each other. She crosses her arms, rolls her eyes. “You were faster when you took care of things _separately_ ,” she says dryly. “Ten more minutes. No more. _Be on the bus_ or it will leave without you. And I do _not_ want to hear groaning when I’m trying to sleep tonight.”

The door slams again when she leaves, and Stiles just looks at Jackson.

“We can do a lot in ten minutes,” Jackson says, and Stiles? He’s all in for that. _All in_.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
